Cory:

For my whole life, since I can remember, all I have known is Topanga Lawrence. The six short years of my life have been completely occupied by that girl.

At age 1, one of my earliest memories is of me climbing over the rails of my crib to reach that of Topanga's. Or we would reach through the bars, if they were ever close enough.

A few months later, she said her first word. "Co-ry" and squealed, hugging me.

In nursery, we slept next to each other during nap time, and held hands. Cooties weren't a thing for us, despite the rest of the children declaring that they should be.

Just before 5, we met Shawn, when he fell into the llama pen. "The wife" I referred to her as. He was already in our school, but that was when the friendship started. In classes, with Mr Feeny of course, we were inseparable. Even Shawn supported it, yelling at Mr Feeny to leave us alone.

When she turned six, I gave her a candy ring. It was a new thing back then. Blue raspberry. I told her "when I'm older, I'm going to ask you to marry me with a proper ring"

Now we're six. Almost seven. Topanga is over, and the night is beautiful. In the backyard, we sit, gazing at the stars. And before I know it, something bright lands on my nose. Topanga gasps, "A firefly!" But the little creature flies away. She looks sad, before the air around us seems illuminated with little tiny lightning bugs.

"Mom, Dad!" I yell, and they come rushing outside. She is trying to touch them. "Can I catch one?"

"You can try" my mom tells me, and goes inside for a minute. She comes back with two nets and a jar. The jar has been poked in the top. She then hands a net each to Topanga and me.

"I'm going to catch the most beautiful firefly" for her. I don't say the last part out loud.

"Not if I do first."

It takes us some time to get used to using the nets. My mom demonstrates, catching one, then setting it free.

The first one, Topanga catches. She attempts to put it into the jar, but it escapes. She stays determined, though.

After I also fail to put one in the jar, Topanga catches another, bright firefly, and places it very carefully into the jar. Mom closes the lid, and it gracefully darts about, shining, inside. Mom gives me another identical jar, and soon, I catch my own.

My mother writes our names on the jars, and places them next to each other on the table.

"They are perfect!" Topanga yells, smiling from ear to ear.